


The Queen's Pet

by myriadofnothing



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Geralt, Geralt saying "hmm" with a cock in his mouth, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Sexual Slavery, Slave Geralt, Smut, Top Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22514794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriadofnothing/pseuds/myriadofnothing
Summary: Geralt is a taciturn harem slave; Jaskier is a opportunistic philanderer.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 344





	The Queen's Pet

**Author's Note:**

> Explanation of tags:
> 
> Rape - Geralt is a slave who is not allowed to refuse sex. There is no forcible rape, but the reader may assume there is behind the scenes coersion.
> 
> Canon compliance - This is mostly based on the TV show with some half remembered/probably incorrect things from the video games/books and things made out of whole cloth.

He had spent a good amount of effort flirting with the Countess of March and had been delighted to have finally secured an invitation to her guest chambers the week of the feast at the palace of Cintra, so it was a shock and a disappointment to present himself lavishly bathed and primly attired late in the evening at her door and find her in the lap of another man. It was, thankfully, not her husband catching him peacocking at her chambers at such an hour. Instead, it was an enormously statured and muscled man in fine but plain linens that were hard to place as either the lounging garments of a rich man or the best attire of a middle-class man. He looked to be of middling age, though his hair was white as a dove’s feathers, long to his shoulders and half tied back. When the Countess twisted, panting, out of his lap onto the couch beside him, he didn’t look to Jaskier or to her but oddly kept his eyes averted downward.

“Good evening my lovely- oh. Oh. Why, I, well. Um,” he said, about to concede the round of cuckolding to this stranger and retreat.

“Come in, my flower,” the Countess said with a grin, leaving her legs across the acres of the man’s thighs, the side slit of her dress revealing an eyeful of skin. “Don’t mind him,” she said of the man. “This is just one of the Queen’s pets.”

Jaskier was pretty flexible; he could work with an unexpected plus one. He quickly stepped into the sitting room and closed the door behind him, lest another palace guest come round the corner and catch him entering.

“I don’t think I could ‘not mind’ such a specimen. It would be like not minding a mountain.”

“Oh, he’s very gentle,” she said dismissively. She unfurled herself from the clutch of the cushions and came to greet him. She wore a slip of a silk dress that was arguably a nightgown but had clearly been tailored to be alluring. Jaskier, recovering himself, flourished a bow and kissed her hand. She guided him up by the chin and brought him to her mouth instead. Jaskier took her warm reception in stride, put caressing yet gentlemanly hands at her waist, and matched her kiss without pressing. Her lips were already damp, he realized, from kissing the other man.

“You are absolutely ravishing,” he whispered to her when she pulled away.

She smiled and stroked his cheek, but then she turned her attention back to the white-haired man, damn him. Without the Countess occupying him, he had slid off the couch to kneel on the rug with his hands on his thighs, his back straight, and his eyes still averted.

“The Queen lends him out from her harem, you see. I know I promised you this night,” she pouted, “But it was last minute and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. If you’re very put off, he can go in the corner… but I would be very excited if you two would get along.” She shot Jaskier a wicked smile and pulled him forward by the hand. “He _is_ very gentle, come see.”

“That’s very generous of the Queen,” Jaskier said, never at a loss for words even when he was floundering.

She sat on the couch close by where the man was kneeling, leaving Jaskier no option but to sit a hair’s breadth away from both of them unless he wanted to hover awkwardly like a third wheel. She took the man’s chin exactly the way she had touched Jaskier’s a minute before. The man looked up at her. His profile was like that of a marble statue, his nose straight and jaw chiseled.

Jaskier unshouldered his lute and tucked it to the side absently.

“Show Julian how gentle you are, pet,” she purred. She cupped her palm to his chin and turned his head toward Jaskier. “Show him how generous the Queen is.”

The man’s eyes snapped to Jaskier’s. They were inhuman, yellow and slit like a cat’s, or a snake’s. Jaskier recoiled, though he forced himself to not leap off the couch like a coward in front of the Countess.

“What is he?” he sputtered.

“No one knows,” the Countess said sadly. “Some say he was cursed by a mage.” She stroked the man’s hair as if to comfort him.

“What are you?” Jaskier tried asking the man himself, controlling his voice. There shouldn’t be anything to fear here, he reasoned. Yes, the man had arms the size of half hams and evil eyes, but there he was kneeling on the floor, apparently well in hand.

“I don’t remember, sir,” the man said in a low, gravelly growl.

“He remembers nothing before his service to the Queen,” the Countess said. She slid her thumb up over the man’s close-shaven chin to depress the flesh of his lower lip. He parted his mouth, and when her thumb pressed in harder he opened it wide. The Countess was an improper lady of Jaskier’s favorite kind; it was clear what she was offering with the man’s mouth. To think he had come to her chambers tonight expecting to continue wooing her with poetry and seduction!

“My lady,” Jaskier said, “While this… pet… is intriguing, I came here tonight to see you.” He put his hand to her upper arm and turned more toward her, hoping to pull her attention to himself.

The Countess sighed in overwrought disappointment. “Yes, of course.” She pulled the man to lean up, tipped his head back, and kissed him from above as if he were some meek damsel. They were inches away from Jaskier; there was definitely tongue. Jaskier had been low-key worked up from anticipation all day, and now the exposed sexuality of the Countess and the counterpoint instant obedience of the man smacked a hot flush of excitement through him.

She pushed the man away and finally, thankfully, turned toward Jaskier. The man sank back on his heels; his gaze drifted back down to the skirt of the couch between their legs. “Would you like some wine? Refreshment? I’ve already partaken.”

She had the Queen’s pet serve Jaskier wine and then dismissed him to the corner of the sitting room between the sideboard and the fireplace where he knelt silently, head bowed, for all the world seeming unperturbed that Jaskier had had him uninvited from the evening’s carnal activities.

They adjourned to the attached bedchamber and things were progressing nicely when a polite knock sounded at the outer door.

“Are you expecting someone else?” Jaskier asked; it didn’t seem too far-fetched given what he was learning about the Countess.

“No,” she said, a creep of worry plucking at her brow. She wiggled into a dressing gown and answered the door. Unsure if he should hide under the bed, he listened to what he could hear. It sounded like it was simply a page delivering a message. However, when the Countess came back, she hurried right past him to the wardrobe and started dressing. It was decidedly a step in the wrong direction.

“I apologize my sweet, I have to attend this- my husband- he will be wondering where I’ve got off to if I don’t. Please stay, I’ll return before midnight, I’m sure.”

He didn’t quite catch what it was she needed to leave for, but she was quite flustered at the idea that she might be caught out of the right place, and within a few minutes he was alone with his hard cock.

“Fuck,” he said.

After about fifteen hopeful minutes, he conceded that the Countess would not be returning forthwith.

Out in the sitting room, the pet had not moved a fraction of an inch. He could have been sleeping; he barely looked to be breathing. Jaskier picked at the cold food on the sideboard and poured himself another glass of wine. He adjusted his wedding tackle as he sat on the plush couch, his balls sore in protest at the sudden, unfulfilled cessation of amorous activities. He strummed his lute.

_As large as a bear and hair so fair,  
His eyes were rare, they gave me a scare…_

“So,” Jaskier said, “Do you have a name, or does everyone just call you ‘pet?’”

The man looked up after a delay as if he were not expecting to be addressed. “I am not permitted to use a name, sir.”

_No name of his own, he belongs to the throne…_

“Well, that is a peculiar rule. How long have you known the Countess?”

_But the women all moan for the cut of his… jawbone…_

_…For his clear excess of tes-tos-terone…_

“Since after dinner, sir.”

“You lucky dog. It took me all week to get here. Though, I suppose, a harem slave ends up in these situations quite frequently.”

“I am not permitted to say, sir.”

"Hm, they can’t have you running around blabbing secrets, can they?

“No, sir.”

Conversation with the Queen’s pet was disappointing. For all the incredible stories one would expect such a strange man to have, it was all deep growls of yes, sir; no sir; I don’t remember, sir. Then again, he hadn’t been lent to the Countess for his conversational skills: better uses for his mouth, and all that. The memory of the man kneeling at his feet, his mouth patiently open, was vivid and tantalizing. The Countess had as much as given him permission to use him, hadn’t she? And though the man looked like he could break Jaskier in half, he had been perfectly docile so far. He put aside his lute and gave his cock a squeeze. Little Jaskier was interested.

“Come here, pet,” he said. The command felt foreign, if not disagreeable, on his tongue.

He had a moment of doubt when the man prowled across the room, towering over him, but when he reached Jaskier he went back to his knees without question. A flutter of excitement warmed him. He unlaced his breeches and freed his cock. The man looked up at that, a knowing look coloring his otherwise stoic expression. He didn’t need wheedling for cocksucking like he did for conversation- he shifted forward and leaned in, big hands steadying on Jaskier’s calves, his mouth opening and tongue just peeking out.

“Wait!” The man hadn’t had pointed teeth or anything, had he? The man stilled- instantly obeying- and sat back on his heels with an inscrutable look. “Show me your teeth.” They looked like normal, human teeth. “Alright. Come on, but slowly,” Jaskier instructed.

The man started with the flat of his tongue to the underside of his cock. It was warm and wet, and there were no teeth, pointed or otherwise. Jaskier sighed and relaxed into the cushions. The man licked his way down the shaft until his nose was in Jaskier’s groin, and tongued at his freshly barbered balls.

“Oh,” Jaskier breathed. “You know your way about it.” The way his cock was just laying on that artfully arched cheekbone, dangerously close to smearing precum on his temple, was doing something to him.

The man dragged his tongue back up the shaft in one long, slow pull. At the tip, he put his lips around the piss slit, just enough to lick off the bead of cum, and then laved his tongue back down along the top and sides.

When the man finally took the weeping head fully in his mouth, soft and sucking, Jaskier sifted his hands into the man’s hair. He hadn’t meant to take the reins, just to touch, but it made the man hesitate and shoot a glance up at him with those weird eyes, lips still wrapped around him. His jaw relaxed just a fraction, and Jaskier realized he was anticipating Jaskier taking control. His cock pulsed. How could he not pull that mouth down on him when it was so clearly made ready for him? He reeled the man in slowly, giving him time to acclimate to the intrusion in his mouth. The man didn’t seem to need it; he took what he was given, working wetness from his mouth around Jaskier’s flesh with a rolling tongue, shifting his shoulders slightly and lengthening his neck, until he was at the base of Jaskier’s cock and swallowing in a languid rhythm.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to be so good at that,” Jaskier said, breathless. He was versatile in his attractions; it wasn’t that he was disinclined toward huge, muscular men, but rather that propositioning them was perilous to his bodily integrity. Having one at his feet was novel; he liked it.

In response, the man grunted a “hmm” around his cock that made his thighs shiver.

“To think I almost left you in the corner all night,” Jaskier lamented.

He flexed his fingers through the dove-white hair, it’s texture as downy soft as that of a noblewoman, telling of expensive oils and careful grooming. He tugged to get the man to start moving in long, measured rises and plunges on his cock. Soon, spit was in abundance, messing over the man’s lips and down Jaskier’s balls. It was too good inside of his mouth, slippery and warm, his tongue plush and undulating, playing at the head when he rose and stroking the underside when he descended. Short bouts of suction pulled at his flesh. On the end of the downstrokes, when the man’s face was all the way in Jaskier’s lap and Jaskier’s cock was filling him to the very back of his mouth, fluttering contractions from his throat just kissed the tip of him.

“Yes- fuck- take it-” Jaskier groaned as his orgasm crammed its way up his balls and out of his pleasure-wracked cock. The sides of his shaft pulsed; he watched it deliver his spend through stretched lips and into the receptive mouth. He had to tug the man off of him because his face was too fucking handsome for Jaskier not to cum over it. The man let him hold his face upturned and obediently took three or so spurts of cum over his defiled lips, his close-shaven cheek, and the bridge of his nose before Jaskier slid his cock back home into his mouth. He didn’t even need a tight grip on his hair, because the man held still for him as he fucked the last toe-curling bursts of cum into his mouth. He thrust balls-deep though the spit and cum and the man gagged for the first time, his first uncooperative act of the night, his hands tightening on Jaskier’s calves.

Jaskier let him go. The man pulled back but not off, swallowing around him. Jaskier slid bonelessly deeper into the couch. “Fuck me, that was amazing,” he said stupidly.

The man looked up at him, his hair mussed by Jaskier’s hands, his Adonis-esque features streaked with cum, his cheeks lightly hollowed as he carefully sucked on the cock still spreading his lips.

“That’s enough, pet,” Jaskier breathed.

The man disengaged, a thin strand of spit-mucus-cum following him until it snapped. He sank back on his heels, his posture straightening, his hands returning to his thighs. His broad chest rose and fell levelly, hardly taxed. His expression was tranquil, maybe schooled to it, and after a long moment, his eyes drifted down to some invisible point between Jaskier’s knees.

Jaskier fished his pocketwatch from his doublet with sapped fingers. Sweat stuck his breeches to the backs of his calves where the man’s hands had warmed them.

“Half-past ten,” he read. “An hour and a half until our hostess returns. What shall we do for an hour and a half? Any ideas?”


End file.
